


Not Okay

by bethylated_spirits



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Depressed Sirius Black, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gay Remus Lupin, Gay Sirius Black, Hurt/Comfort, James Potter is a Good Friend, M/M, Marauders, Mental Health Issues, Mention of abuse, No Magic AU, Self-Harm, Sirius Black Needs a Hug, Sirius Black is Not Okay, Suicidal Thoughts, caring James Potter, modern day AU, trigger warning, wolfstar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-11-02 05:14:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20633054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bethylated_spirits/pseuds/bethylated_spirits
Summary: "Where are you now? Are you safe?"Sirius glances guiltily at the pill bottles lying next to him.“I, um…” He swallows, his throat dry. “Yes?”Sirius Black is not okay.





	Not Okay

**Author's Note:**

> This is a modern-day, no magic AU. Sirius is living with his best friend James and dating Remus. He also suffers from depression.  
Please note the trigger warnings! Sirius is not in a good place, and this story deals with themes of depression, suicidal thoughts, self-harm, and past abuse. If you're worried that any of this could be triggering for you, please put your health first! You can always bookmark the story and come back to it when you're in a healthy mindset, if you want to. And for anyone who is struggling at the moment, try to remember that you have made it through all of your worst days up to this point, and you can make it through today as well. Fighting mental illness is incredibly difficult, and everyone who does so is so strong and brave.  
On a lighter topic, I just wanted to mention that 'doona' is an Australian word for 'duvet'.

He curls into a tight ball, shuddering. He can hear his teeth chatter, and his right hand twists into a fist, grasping the doona beneath him tightly. It should be so easy to just climb underneath it, but he can’t seem to find the energy to do it. He can’t seem to find the energy to do anything right now.

He blinks, his eyes flickering from his hand to the doona to the opposite wall, before focussing on the bottle of anti-depressants laying a handsbreadth away from his knees. There is a pack of painkillers there too, he knows, but he can’t see those without lifting his head and he has no motivation to do that.

He tilts his head back a little, the merest few centimetres, and takes a moment to breathe there. His fingers uncurl slightly, then grasp the doona once more. He can see his bedside table now, and on it his Samsung S7. It had been a gift from James’ parents. A lot better than anything his own parents had ever given him. He closes his eyes, and breathes deeply once more. He knows what he is supposed to do – James has told him numerous times to call if it gets too bad – but the inches between his hand and his phone seem as wide as an ocean.

His arm shakes as he extends it. It seems pathetic, that something as simple as reaching for his phone should be this tiring. He used to do 5km and 10km runs, but today the only time he’s been on his feet was to walk the 12 paces to the bathroom. And even then, he had slid down the wall and sat on the tiles for close to an hour before he’d been able to make his way back.

People don’t understand, when you say mental illness. It doesn’t only affect you mentally – although that would be bad enough. On days like today, it makes the supposedly simple act of leaving his room more challenging than running a marathon.

He grips the phone and pulls it back towards him, muscles going lax on top of the covers after their small bit of exertion. He takes another breath, then grabs it more tightly and turns it so he can see the screen.

He unlocks the phone. Breathes. Presses the call button in the bottom left corner. Breathes.

James’ name is second on the list of recent calls, just below Remus. Sirius’ thumb hovers above the name, then taps it before he can think about it any more. There is a beat of silence, then he hears the first ring. _Ring-ring._ No answer. _Ring-ring._ No answer. It’s midway through the third ring when James picks up the phone.

“Hello?” Sirius is briefly annoyed. James should have answered the phone after the second ring _or_ after the third ring. Not partway through a ring. He knows this is irrational, though, and mentally shakes himself out of that train of thought.

“Sirius? You there?” James asks. Sirius swallows.

“Yeah”, he says. His voice sounds weird to his own ears, and he wonders if it sounds weird to James as well. He thinks it’s the first time he’s spoken today.

“Is everything okay, mate?”

Sirius bites his lip. He shouldn’t have called James. He _should_ be able to deal with this by himself, instead of bothering his friend. But James had said to call him when he needed.

“Um… not really.” He admits. When James speaks again, it’s with the gentler voice that he reserves for when Sirius or a member of his family is unwell.

“What’s up?”

Sirius thinks about it briefly, finding it difficult to articulate his thoughts within the fog of his brain.

“It’s… not a very good day.” He cringes. Does that sound as stupid to James as it does to him? “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t bother you –”

“No, you’re not bothering me!” James insists. “Not at all, don’t worry.” In the background, Sirius can hear papers being shuffled and muted conversations from the desks surrounding James. He worries his lower lip between his teeth uncertainly.

“Where are you now? Are you safe?” James asks. Sirius feels shame rise within him. It’s a question that shouldn’t have to be asked. But James has seen him at low points before – low enough to know that he _does_ need to ask. He glances guiltily at the pill bottles lying next to him.

“I, um…” He swallows once more, his throat dry. “Yes?”

He sounds unconvincing, even to his own ears. Evidently James is not fooled either, because the next time he speaks his worry is obvious, breaking through the calm and sympathetic voice he has been trying to maintain up to this point.

“Sirius, what’s going on? Did something bad happen?” Sirius shakes his head mutely. He hears rustling from the other end of the line; James is moving about.

“Sirius?” James’ voice sounds higher now, his anxiety clear even through the phone.

“’m here”, Sirius mumbles. “’m okay.” He hears James breathe a sigh of relief.

“What happened, Padfoot?” his friend asks.

“Nothing. Nothing happened.” Sirius scrunches his nose, frustrated by how _dull_ his mind seems – a side effect of the medication he’s on at the moment. He needs his brain to work. He needs to make James understand. But how can he? What he has already said is completely honest. Nothing bad has happened to make him feel this way. He has no excuse, no reason that he can articulate for why he is struggling so badly.

“Okay”, James says gently. “Okay, that’s good.”

“_No_”, Sirius whines. “It’s _nothing_. It’s not a thing, it’s _nothing!_ And it’s still bad… You don’t _get it_!” He is embarrassed to feel tears begin to slip down his cheeks. Why can’t he make James understand?

“Okay, Sirius. It’s okay”, James soothes. “I’m coming to you now, alright?” Sirius makes a sound that is supposed to be a protest, but James either doesn’t hear it or chooses to ignore it.

“Are you at home?” Sirius just blinks at the phone. James’ voice, when he next speaks, is panicked:

“Sirius, are you at home?!”

Sirius murmurs an affirmation, and hears his friend’s relieved sigh through the phone.

“Okay, good. I’m coming home now, okay Pads? I’ll be there in 20 minutes. Can you promise me you’ll stay safe until I get there?”

Sirius glances at the pills once more. It’s not like he hasn’t been thinking about it… but he can’t see himself having enough energy to try anything before James gets back. Besides, he knows that he shouldn’t – even if it _is_ tempting at the moment.

“Okay”, he mumbles. It’s probably not as convincing an agreement as James is hoping for, but it’s the best he can offer at the moment.

“Okay”, James repeats. “Okay, that’s great. I’ll be there soon.”

“M’kay”, Sirius says again.

“Hey Sirius?” James pauses briefly, as though to make sure his friend is listening. “I’m really glad you called me. I’m sure that wasn’t easy… and I’m proud of you.”

Huh. Sirius feels a small burst of warmth inside his chest. After a childhood spent being yelled at and punished for any small transgression, being told over and over again that he was worthless and useless, and frequently being beaten by his father, the praise from his friend means a lot. It feels strange to be told that, for once, he’s done something right.

……………………………….

James slips his phone into his pocket, then grabs his satchel and swings it over his shoulder. He strides purposefully towards the head office, knocking twice and desperately hoping that his boss isn’t in the middle of a long phone call with a new author.

“Come in”, she calls from the other side of the door.

Silently thanking the universe for helping him out, James pulls the door open and pokes his head into the office.

“Hi Minerva, I’m really sorry but something’s come up and I need to leave early.”

Minerva blinks, blue eyes surveying him coolly from behind her glasses.

“Is everything alright, James?” she enquires. James bites his lip, anxious to get out of there.

“Not really. My best mate’s in trouble – he’s got depression, and I just got this call from him, and I really need to get home and make sure he’s okay.”

Minerva’s expression is full of concern.

“Of course, James. Go”, she urges.

Flashing her a grateful smile, he withdraws his head, closes the door and half-walks, half-runs to the elevator.

James has always been a cautious driver, but he hovers slightly above the speed limit the entire drive home. It’s not that he doesn’t trust Sirius to keep his promise and stay safe. But the fact that Sirius had actually called him for help suggests that his friend’s mental state is pretty bad, and he wants to get to him as soon as possible.

He inwardly chastises himself for not realising that Sirius was getting bad again. Surely after all this time, he should be more perceptive. But Sirius could be very good at hiding how he was feeling. He had been a skilled actor from a young age, and it wasn’t until they’d been friends for several years that James had realised the extent of Sirius’ issues with his parents, and just how unhappy his friend could be behind that charming smile and carefree exterior.

James had gone for lunch with some work colleagues on Sunday so hadn’t seen his roommate until that evening, but Sirius hadn’t given any indication then that he was struggling. And they had eaten dinner and watched a movie together just last night, and he’d seemed okay. A little subdued, but that wasn’t unusual for him – especially for a Monday. But still, there must have been _something_ James had missed. Something he should have picked up on, and _would_ have picked up on if he was a better friend.

Frowning, James indicates and pulls off the highway. His fingers tighten on the steering wheel as he turns onto his street, and he sends up a quick plea to a god he’s not sure he believes in that Sirius is alright.

His key sticks in the lock when he reaches the door to their apartment, and he curses under his breath. The apartment he shares with Sirius isn’t _old_, but it’s not exactly _new_ either and the front door is a frequent hassle – especially after coming home from a night out when he’s drunk and it takes him five minutes just to get the door open. Pulling the handle towards him, he tries again. This time, gratifyingly, the key turns and he hears the lock _click._

“Sirius?” he calls, stepping into the living area. He drops his satchel onto an arm chair and continues on to Sirius’ room. The door is open, and he can see his flatmate curled in the fetal position on his bed. From where he stands in the doorway he can’t see Sirius’ face, but he can see that he’s shaking and his heart aches for his friend.

He walks around the bed to crouch in front of Sirius.

“Hey buddy”, he says gently. “How are you doing?”

Sirius’ right shoulder rises in a half-shrug, his grey eyes darting around the room guiltily.

James casts his gaze around the room, trying to think of what to say next. His eyes lock on the antidepressants and painkillers lying by Sirius’ knees and he freezes, his mind launching into a repetition of ‘_shit shit shit shit shit’._

“Uh… Sirius?” His voice comes out sounding strangled. He swallows painfully. He’s scared to ask and terrified to hear the answer. But he needs to know.

“Sirius, did you take any of these pills?” He forces his frozen limbs to move, reaching out and grasping the bottle of antidepressants. He holds them in front of Sirius’ face, his hand shaking slightly.

Sirius blinks. James reminds himself to breathe. Then – almost imperceptibly – Sirius shakes his head.

“No”, he whispers, voice hoarse. “Just one this morning, like usual.”

“_Thank God_”, James mutters under his breath. He grabs the painkillers as well and drops all of the pills into Sirius’ top desk drawer, not wanting to see them.

“What’s going on, mate?” he asks, kneeling so that his face is level with his friend’s. “Is there something I can do?”

Sirius sighs.

“Dunno.” He finally looks James in the eye. “I don’t know why I’m like this. I’m so fucking useless!” He flops over onto his back, staring angrily at the ceiling.

“You are _not_ useless”, James says firmly. He reaches out and takes Sirius’ hand in his own, squeezing it firmly. “I promise.”

The corner of Sirius’ mouth curls upwards into a tiny smile.

“Thanks, Prongs.”

James looks down at the hand he is holding between his own, stiffening as he sees traces of coppery red on Sirius’ fingers.

“There’s blood on your hand”, he remarks, his voice rising slightly in worry. “Shit, Sirius, did you cut yourself again?”

Sirius feels his face flood with heat.

“I – it was just a little bit”, he manages. He’d needed the energy boost to get back to his bedroom from the bathroom, needed the hit of adrenaline it gave him. He knew it was wrong, and fucked up… but in a weird way, it felt kind of good. It gave him a feeling of release. He had been careful, hadn’t gone too deep. And it helped him, so where was the harm?

The truth was, he could try to justify it any way he wanted, but he still knew it wasn’t right that he was drawn to hurt himself. It was symptomatic of the fucked-up nature of his brain – this need to punish himself for never being good enough.

“Sirius.” James’ voice is quiet, pained.

Sirius feels a ball of guilt flare within his otherwise empty stomach. He’s hurt James. One of the primary reasons for his self-harm was to try to avoid hurting the people he loves, by dealing with his issues privately rather than letting his friends see him hurting. He never cuts where people will see in public, instead targeting the skin over his hipbones, and occasionally his ribs. In a weird way, he almost believes that by hurting himself like this, he can protect those he loves from being hurt. But obviously that isn’t working out, because James knows about it and all he can see on his friend’s face is sadness and confusion.

James is a good friend – his _best_ friend – and over the years he has become like a brother to Sirius. But he still doesn’t fully understand all the self-hatred and suffering that is pressed upon Sirius by his own mind. To be fair, Sirius doesn’t fully understand it either. Why some days he feels well enough to buy groceries, go for a jog, and go out with his friends or on dates with his boyfriend, Remus, while other days he struggles to leave his bed, doesn’t shower or brush his teeth, and doesn’t eat unless someone (usually James) brings him food.

“Why?” James asks. Sirius shakes his head slightly, burrowing further into the doona.

“I’m sorry.” His voice is muffled. James sighs deeply, and Sirius feels the mattress dip as his roommate perches himself at the end of the bed.

“You don’t have to be sorry.” He bounces, the bed moving with him. “I just wish you’d called sooner.”

Sirius remains silent, and James seems to realise his mistake, backtracking quickly.

“It’s great that you _did_ call, though. I’m really glad you told me. I know it’s hard for you – well, not that I know personally what it’s like, and I would never presume to know exactly how you’re feeling – but what I’m getting at is: it was really brave of you to call. So thank you.”

Sirius blinks rapidly, his eyes suddenly pricking with tears. It seems like anything can set him off when he’s in this state of mind. He’d once gotten so stressed about what to wear on a date that he had scratched his ankle until it bled, then cried and gone back to bed.

He thinks, once again, of how incredibly fortunate he is to have a friend like James, who has seen the worst side of him and supports him anyway.

With a Herculean effort, he pushes himself into a sitting position, meeting James’ gaze squarely. James grins at him, although concern is still evident in his hazel eyes. For all his practice at acting cheerful when he is anything but, Sirius can’t quite dredge up a convincing smile in return. But the corner of his mouth lifts a little, and he thinks it’s progress.

James reaches out, gently grasping Sirius’ shoulder and raising his pseudo-brother’s shirt a little to reveal the myriad scars crisscrossing the skin just above his hips. Some are old and barely visible, others still pink and raised. Over his right hipbone are Sirius’ most recent contributions, still red and with dried blood crusting the cuts.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, hey?”

………………………..

Sirius perches uncomfortably on the edge of the bathtub. It had taken a lot of coaxing on James’ part to get him there, and James had needed to support most of his friend’s weight to help him walk the short distance to the bathroom once more.

“Have you talked to Remus at all today?” James asks as he swabs Sirius’ cuts and trails Betadine over them to help prevent infection.

Remus and Sirius have been dating for 5 months now, and he seems like a lovely bloke. He’s been out for dinner and drinks with James, Sirius and Peter several times, and he fits in nicely with their little group. In James’ opinion, Remus is really good for Sirius. He hopes that Sirius’ apparent spiral hasn’t been caused by a fight or – worst case scenario – breaking up with Remus.

Sirius shakes his head morosely.

“He’s sick.”

Remus is a kindergarten teacher, and seems to come down with something or other every few weeks. Peter had teasingly suggested over dinner one night that it was part of his ‘monthly cycle’, and Remus had laughed good-naturedly and insisted that after another 20 or so years on the job, he would be immune to any and all diseases that his students could bring into the classroom.

“Oh. I didn’t know that”, James says mildly, replacing the cap on the Betadine and pulling a couple of Band-Aids from their box.

The cuts aren’t deep. He knows that Sirius wasn’t trying to do serious damage to himself. He had told James once – while trialling a new medicine that he’d stopped taking within a few weeks because it made him dopey and completely removed any filter from his brain to his mouth – that he hurt himself rather than hurting the people he loved with his death. It was as though, to his brain, the cutting was a preventative measure against more permanent injury. James didn’t really understand it. Why couldn’t he choose to do neither? Why did his only options involve hurting himself? But he had never been able to ask Sirius about it. He wasn’t even sure if his friend remembered what he’d said while under the influence of that particular medication.

Sirius shrugs, then shivers slightly as James’ fingers brush against his skin.

“’s okay.”

“When did you guys last meet up?” James asks casually, as he returns the Betadine, cotton buds and Band-Aids to their medicine cabinet.

“Thursday night. Went to the movies.” Sirius still sounds tired, but James knows that he’s doing the best he can. “We talked about maybe catching up on Sunday, but he wasn’t feeling well.”

“Are you worried about him?” James asks gently. “Do you think that could be one of the things that’s making you feel bad?”

Sirius shakes his head.

“He’s okay. Just a stomach bug; he said he’d be fine in a few days.”

“Okay. That’s good.”

He crouches down next to Sirius, wrapping an arm around his friend’s narrow waist.

“Ready to move?” He doesn’t wait for an answer before standing, once more taking part of Sirius’ weight, as they shuffle towards the bedroom like two particularly slow contestants in a 3-legged race.

He settles Sirius into bed, working to keep his expression free of the pain it causes him to see his best friend like this. Sirius’ shoulder-length dark hair is knotted and greasy, his eyes swollen and bloodshot from crying. James has seen Sirius during depressive episodes plenty of times before, but it always hurts. Not that he ever lets Sirius see that, if he can help it. He knows that his friend is trying his best, and he doesn’t want to give him any reason to feel guilty over being unwell. Not for the first time, James mentally curses the Black family for how horribly they had treated his friend, for the beatings that Sirius had tried to hide and the psychological conditioning that had made the incredible man before him feel worthless, alone and unlovable.

……………………………

Finding out that Sirius was gay had been the final straw for his uncompromising right-wing parents. He had shown up on James’ doorstep that night covered in fresh bruises, his left eye blackened and cradling his right wrist, which turned out to have been broken.

“They kicked me out”, he mumbled around a split lip, his eyes downcast.

After that, the Potters had basically adopted him. James had wanted to see Sirius’ parents brought to justice for what they had done to him, but his father gently pointed out to him that Orion and Walburga Black were exceedingly wealthy and respected members of society. Any court case brought against them would be nearly impossible to win, and the mental ramifications it would have for Sirius – forced to stand as a witness and recount the abuse he had received _in front of his abusers_ – made it not worth the risk.

At 16, James had been unable to understand how on earth somebody’s parents could hurt them like that and get away with it. He still didn’t understand it. And it made him absolutely furious. Every time Sirius absent-mindedly called himself a failure, or useless, or not good enough, James felt that rage burn within him and wanted nothing more than to lock both Orion and Walburga away for life. It was bad enough that they had failed to see what a wonderful young man their son was; worse that they had made him believe their lies about him.

……………………….

“Do you think you’d like to call Remus?” James asks quietly, once Sirius is comfortable. Sirius’ eyes widen, a panicked expression flickering across his face.

“No!”

“Okay, okay, just a suggestion.” He places a comforting hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Any particular reason you don’t want to talk to him?”

Sirius bites his lip, his eyes welling with tears once more.

“I don’t want him to know I’m like this.” He sniffs, angrily swiping the back of one hand across his eyes. “I don’t want him to see me like this, or talk to me when I’m like this, okay?”

“Oh, Sirius…” James voice is little more than a breath, but filled with sympathy. “But Remus knows that you have depression, doesn’t he?”

Sirius sniffs once more, frowning.

“Yeah, he knows. But it’s different, seeing it when it’s bad. I don’t – I don’t want to lose him.” Tears spill down his cheeks.

“Padfoot…” James perches on the side of the bed. “Do you really think you would? Remus wouldn’t judge you for being unwell.”

Sirius looks unconvinced.

“Look at it this way, then. Are you judging him because he’s sick?” Sirius is already shaking his head.

“That’s different.”

“Why?”

“Because he can’t help that.”

“Neither can you!” James insists, exasperated. “Look, I know how hard this must be for you, but Remus is a good guy. I promise you, he will not judge you.”

Sirius bites his lip, his eyes cast downward.

“But… it’s not… it’s not _nice_, okay? No, that’s the wrong word, it’s…” His forehead creases as he searches for the right way to explain his thoughts. “Obviously it’s never _nice_, but what most people think of is just… you know, being sad, crying, maybe being a little sleepy. But this –” he gestures vaguely towards himself, “ – this is gross! No-one talks about the part where you don’t shower or change your clothes for a couple days. Or when you can’t even find the energy to brush your teeth and your mouth tastes disgusting; no-one in their right mind would want to kiss that! Or that the crying makes your eyes all swollen, and you get all snotty and gross… he can’t see that. I don’t know why you even put up with me when you’ve seen me like this.”

“Fuck, Sirius, I don’t ‘put up with’ you!” James exclaims. “I love hanging out with you! You’re my best friend – hell, you’re practically my brother! I don’t judge you – not even a tiny bit – for having depression and PTS. And Remus won’t either, because he’s a decent fucking human being! And as for what you said about being ‘snotty and gross’… haven’t you seen Remus snotty and gross a bunch of times by now? And you said before he’s got a stomach bug, right? So he’s probably been throwing up, which is also pretty disgusting. Now, do you want to break up with him?”

Sirius blinks at him, bewildered.

“No”, he says softly, his forehead furrowing. “No, of course I don’t want to break up with him.”

“So there you go”, James says resolutely. He stands, grabbing Sirius’ phone from the bedside table and handing it to him. He pats him on the shoulder reassuringly, then turns and leaves the room to give his friend some privacy.

He walks to the kitchen, and grabs himself a beer from the fridge, then plonks down in front of the television. As he picks up the remote, he hears Sirius’ voice drift from his bedroom:

“Hey Rem. It’s me.”

**Author's Note:**

> I spent most of this morning throwing up, so please leave kudos and nice comments to help me feel better! They always brighten up my day!


End file.
